


emotionally speaking

by lochTenderness (theseourbodies)



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Canon Compliant, Gen, Post-Timeskip, phonecalls, twin nonsense
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-14
Updated: 2021-02-14
Packaged: 2021-03-14 11:28:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,481
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29417910
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theseourbodies/pseuds/lochTenderness
Summary: Sometimes Osamu's bad days are because of his own issues, but sometimes they're really not.
Relationships: Miya Atsumu & Miya Osamu
Kudos: 21





	emotionally speaking

The sun isn’t up. It never is, when Osamu blinks awake. His days start  early, and go long—but that’s the life he’s been choosing for a long time. Difference is, now he really is his own boss, and he chooses this every day. Nice thing, though: His little house is never quiet. The chickens his grandmother gave him when he moved in aren’t awake yet, but Tsukihime knows when he wakes up. He can barely feel her weight on the blanket covering him, but her purr is like an engine. He always hears her coming. 

“Yep,” he sighs at her when she sticks her face against his, prickly whiskers first. “Yep.” 

\---

He’s out of the bathroom and tripping around his kitchen when the neighbor’s rooster finally wakes up. “Ah, yes,” he says when his own chickens start their happy chicken noises out in the open yard. “I hear ya, don’t worry.” Feed for the chickens; some nice ground up chicken for the cat, and Osamu has just enough time to get back to his cup of coffee before the rice cooker sings out happily. It’s just another day in paradise. 

If only he could figure out what the hell has him so on edge. 

He curses gently at his oldest hen when he goes to raid their little coop for treasure; she gets under his feet and shrieks at him, like she’s been doing since she hit maturity, months ago. He can’t quite stand it this morning. ‘Hime gets her claws in him when he stupidly goes to pet her belly when he stumbles back into his house, eggs in hand, and he cusses at her, too. The tone of his voice sends her off in a fluffy huff, squeezing under his cabinet to stare out at him with offended little eyes. Her tail, left out in the open, flicks in annoyance, but he can’t make his apologies with the other neighbor’s dog absolutely losing it next door; the paper boy, Koshi, has little beads clipped to the tine of his bike wheels, and they click obnoxiously when he glides down the hill. Osamu can’t blame the dog for howling; he’d want to howl, too, if he could. But even once-wild boys don’t get to just go howling whenever they like once they're respectable business owners. He spends his spare thirty minutes of free time in the morning trying to coax his cat out from her hiding place patiently instead. 

He’s successful, of course. His chicken mince is the best. 

\---

‘Hime isn’t the only pretty girl he almost snaps just that morning, unfortunately. Just like Hime, Chika- chan doesn’t deserve his temper—she's not just doing her job, she’s being as ruthlessly, cheerfully efficient about it as she ever is. It’s just that she’s moved his big spoon—to make some room in the rack for his new set of stainless-steel mixing bowls—and this whole day is already testing his patience. The sun isn’t even properly up. Chika-chan's powerful eyebrows have been set into a sharp v since Osamu raised his voice; the silence in the prep room is particularly arctic-cold. 

He really does need to figure this out, and fast. 

\--- 

Chika- chan suggests that he take a break after the mid-morning rush; Osamu understands that it’s not actually a suggestion even without seeing the way her little mouth is bent sharply into a  frown and takes himself out onto the street to pace and hunt down a place to eat his lunch—a little early, but he’s earned it. ‘Sides, he’s never quite gotten over the habit of making enough for two. 

He finds a nice bench in the park nearby and he indulges: it’s early for lunch and there’s no one around to see him flop all of himself down, careless of elbows and knees. There’s a lot of Osamu to throw around, and there’s not a lot of space usually for him to go wild like he did when he was a kid. Much like howling, hurling your arms around willy-nilly was also generally not allowed when you were a respected business owner. It’s times like this that he misses his brother.  Atsumu hated people all up in his business; when he needed room, he’d just make it, just shift a little and let people know. For two people pretty much identical to one another that had always been  Atsumu’s dumb skill rather than Osamu’s. 

Nah, that’s not fair, Osamu thinks suddenly. Times like this seem to be all the time lately. He misses his dumb, try-hard friend like a limb, sometimes, but there’s a different kind of missing that he’s only been recently coming to grips with—the kind that creeps up on him, make seemingly ok days not as ok anymore. 

He sighs, but he realizes that his phone’s already in his hand. Before he can check himself, he’s already made the call. 

It doesn’t ring more than once;  Atsumu’s days start early and go long, too.

Feels right almost immediately, but he settles when he hears  Atsumu quietly cursing at something that’s not going quite right on his end before his brother even says  _ hey.  _

_ “ _ Fucking nothing goin’ right today, ‘Samu--” 

“--yeah, nothing right here, either ‘Tsumu.”

It’s probably his brother’s damn bag, the one he’d gotten when he’d signed with the Jackals and refused to replace even though it was  stiff and the strap just hit wrong on  Atsumu’s shoulder. It’s branded, and it has his name and number neatly stitched into the side with shiny gold thread, which is all that Osamu needs to understand about it to know why Atsumu won’t go back to using the  barely-used bag he’d bought with his first advance. 

“Damn straps all weird,”  Atsumu mutters, confirming for Osamu without Osamu having to ask. 

“Maybe you’re just weird shaped, huh?” 

“Oi--” 

“Hey,” Osamu cuts his brother off, not sharply.  Atsumu’s voice on the phone has settled some of his restless energy. The way forward is  more clear to him. “You want to come by the house tonight? Doesn’t matter what time, and I’ll feed ya.” 

The silence on the other end of the line is telling. Sometimes, Osamu’s bad days are bad for him reasons, admittedly, but sometimes, they’re bad for  Atsumu reasons instead. He should have called sooner, probably; he knows damn well Atsumu’s never going to be the one to call first, even if it’s him that’s not doing great. 

“Don’t want to be a bother to  ya ,”  Atsumu mutters finally. It’s not that he sounds tired; it just sounds like there’s certainly something in him, ground deep.

Osamu doesn’t dig just then like he wants to. Figuring out what's eating his brother up will take a moment if he can just get  Atsumu in front of him, in person. “Oh sure,” he jokes, keeping his voice low. “Well, I’ll have to let ‘Hime know. She’ll need to prepare for your visit, emotionally speaking.” 

Atsumu huffs a laugh—good sign, generally.  Atsumu’s a contrary enough bastard some days that it takes every second experience from their lives lived together for Osamu to get anything out of him. “Shaddup, bastard.” 

“If I am, you are.” 

“Shithead then!” 

They snipe gently back and forth— long enough that Osamu finally says, “Just pack a bag and stay then,  ya freeloader!” just in case he wasn’t clear at first that he wants his brother  _ here, ASAP.  _

Atsumu grumbles a little, but he doesn’t say anything that might be a  _ no.  _ Real good signs all around. Slow season for restaurants  are typically slow seasons for big-shot athletes too, thankfully. He’ll still be in the shop tomorrow morning, which he hasn’t told  Atsumu yet; he also hasn’t told  Atsumu that if Osamu’s in the shop, he will be too, but that’s no matter really. They’ve always had the habit of sharing space. It’s something neither of them have really wanted to grow out of, he thinks. 

Atsumu growls and grumbles about it, but by then Osamu’s already walking back to the shop, grinning. It’s not even as hard as it usually is, to hang up the phone; his brother coming to visit within the day is apparently enough to tide him over. 

There’s a little line when he slips back behind the counter and into the kitchen—nothing Chika can’t handle, but  Atsumu hears the gentle noise over the line and seems to realize that they haven’t hung up yet. 

“Ok. Alright, I’ll see  ya then. Maybe around 9PM, if this practice runs late.” 

“Ok. I’ll try to keep from eatin’ all the delicious food I’m planning for you while I’m stuck waiting.” 

“... See  ya , Samu.” 

“See you soon, ‘Tsumu,” Osamu says, feeling reluctant even as he hangs up with a grin. He feels better. He feels so much better it’s kind of scary, but then—that's just the way. 

**Author's Note:**

> Trying to figure out a characterization I actually like for these twins together and individually. Have strong Miya twin-pinions? hmu on the bird app and let me know: [@theseourbodies](https://twitter.com/theseourbodies)


End file.
